


Coalescence

by In_a_Quandary



Series: Coalescence Arc [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_a_Quandary/pseuds/In_a_Quandary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A candid conversation between two broken people leads to something more than either expected. Older Hope/Lightning. Post LR. Three-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I - Collision

**Author's Note:**

> While I frequent FF.net, it occurred to me that I should port my stuff over here in the event of another lemon crackdown...
> 
> Back when I first thought up the premise for _Misguidance_ (with only the first instalment of FFXIII to draw inspiration from), I could not conceive of any romantic fruition between Hope and Lightning, given that Lightning had practically adopted Hope as a surrogate sibling. So I wrote that emotional trainwreck as a way to vent my frustration. Now that canon had cemented the fact of Hope's romantic feelings towards Lightning, and set up the scene where they can interact as adults and equals, I wanted to re-explore their relationship. 
> 
> In short, this tale is a thematic inversion – both perspective-wise and mood-wise – of _Misguidance_. I daresay Hope/Lightning fans will appreciate the ending better, however. I originally intended it to be a one-shot, but it grew so long that I ended up splitting it into three parts. 
> 
> To avoid confusion, I’ll state here that Hope has been reincarnated into his twenty-seven year old body, as per _Tracer of Memories_.
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated! :-)

xxx

**Part I – Collision**

xxx

Ten minutes after his third voicemail went through to Lightning's inbox without a reply, Hope concluded that something was amiss.

She couldn't be upset about him being _late_ , could she? He'd called her as soon as he left the lab and she'd taken his apology well enough, if her non-committal response – _don't sweat it, stuff happens_ – was any indication. Punctuality was something he strove for in his meet-ups with Lightning, but neither he nor the former Saviour of the world were immune to the trappings of typical work life: unfinished projects and public transport delays. The latter was beyond his control, but it couldn't contain his nervous habit of drumming fingers against the windowpane, irritation mounting with every announcement. His train ride home should've only taken an hour, but it'd ballooned into two, verging on three.

Now Hope was filled with apprehension of a different kind. He thumbed through the call history screen on his phone, the conspicuous absence of Lightning's replies taunting him.

What if something had happened to her—?

It already galled him that he was late (what a fabulous luxury _that_ was, to worry about lateness when once humanity's survival hung by a thread, but those days of l'Cie and falling planets and manipulative gods were behind him now) to their weekly dinner routine. Their initial exchange had confirmed that Lightning was waiting for him there, Chinese takeaway at the ready. One missed voicemail didn't matter – she could've been occupied at the time – but to ignore three messages within the span of two hours, especially when she was expecting him?

It was unlike her.

Hope sighed. There remained at least another twenty minutes of his journey, with no distraction save the rattling of carriages and complaints of fellow passengers. The view out the window – night-darkened suburbia – yielded no interest either. Invariably his mind wandered, turning over the puzzle of why _Lightning was not answering him_.

The most likely scenario(s) involved circumstances that prevented her from accessing her phone. Maybe there was a power outage that flat-lined reception? Or her phone broke? Or the battery died? Or she misplaced it? Or she suddenly decided to carry out an errand and didn't take her phone with her? The possibilities were endless, but ultimately trivial. Hope truly wished it amounted to no more than that.

He drummed his fingers against his knee, exploring alternative scenarios. It was improbable, but perhaps she'd injured herself? He'd always marvelled at how in tune she was in her environment, responding to changes with the fluidity of well-honed instincts. Meaning, she would sooner maim herself on some unidentified household hazard than he would relinquish his overanalysing ways, which was to say never. There were no monster threats – _those_ were thankfully absent in this new world – and in the unlikely event that their home was robbed between now and two hours ago, Lightning knew how to handle human adversaries. All in all, there was little to concern himself over.

Could she have come down with a case of food poisoning? He wrinkled his nose at the thought of nursing a sick Lightning. Weakness tended to make her more prickly and stubborn than usual, prone to sabotaging her body's own efforts at recovery. There had been two occasions where he'd played nursemaid to her, neither of which he cared to repeat (granted, the first occasion had been a literal matter of life and death). Suffice it to say that his bedside manner was not up to par in dealing with _her_ category of patient.

Still, he couldn't dismiss the possibility. Unpleasant though the consequences might be, he'd handled worse during the course of his overstretched lifetime.

It could always be worse – _much worse_.

Here, the tenuous hold he had over his thoughts slipped. Shutting his eyes, Hope felt himself descend into bleaker territory, one that he visited only in nightmares or when he'd forgone his antidepressants for too long. (Those, he took at the counsellor's recommendation, because try as he might, he couldn't scrub away Bhunivelze entirely from the insides of his skull. Medicating his way to normality was not his preferred course of action, but he would rather enlist the aid of mood-altering chemicals than leave the matter unattended.)

Unbidden, his mind cast back to the time he'd found Lightning in the Temple of the Goddess, entombed in silent, unmoving crystal upon Etro's throne. No matter how hard he'd pleaded and wept and pressed his fingers against the too-warm, glassy expanse of her cheek, she never replied.

He snapped his eyes open. What if the life they were living now was just a dream, like all the abandoned timelines he'd surely traversed but never did in his efforts to reach the true future? What if another intervention of fate had stolen Lightning away again, this time for good—?

 _No._ Hope shook his head, and with a finality born of centuries of making difficult decisions, stilled that train of thought.

He couldn't – _wouldn't_ – lose her again. Not after they'd fought so long and hard to win this chance at normal life together.

The bright flash from a passing lamppost made dots swim in his vision, and he found himself thinking of Cosmogenesis. After Bhunivelze's defeat, he and Lightning had held hands as they drifted in that starry abyss, awaiting their rebirth in the new world. _We'll be together_ , she'd echoed his promise from earlier, then the light engulfed them. But when he awoke, he was alone. Even so, his heart was calm – somehow, he _knew_ that she would come find him.

And she did, thirteen weeks later. He felt his lips curl upwards – now _that_ was a memory he recalled with great fondness.

Lightning had stood on his doorstep, impossibly radiant in ordinary civilian clothes and the sun in her smile – a smile just for him. Time had frozen still for a moment while he drank in the sight of her, hardly daring to breathe for fear that it would shatter the illusion that she was actually here. Then it clicked that she was _real_ and he'd rushed forward, crushing her to his chest and murmuring her name into her hair over and over. Several minutes passed before they pulled apart, and even her eyes were damp with emotion as she'd brushed away the tears from his face. When she'd remarked how he was taller than her – a fact that brought him no small amount of satisfaction – and added, mock-grumpily, that she needed to look up at him now, he'd laughed, the sound rich and joyous and truer than anything he'd expressed in centuries.

His smile turned wistful. Ever since that encounter, they'd been inseparable. On impulse, he'd dropped the suggestion, and within a week they'd moved in together into a new place of their picking. Now that he'd acquired the means to recreate his future – by Lightning's side – why waste time dilly-dallying around?

Lightning had agreed on the grounds of practicality: they were both single and unattached, rent could be shared, and she liked him enough to attempt coexistence on a day-to-day basis. But they both knew that it was more than that. Their brief time together as l'Cie had forged an inviolable bond of trust between them, one that carried them through time and destiny and full circle to normalcy. A thousand years may have separated them, but never once did they falter in their pact to look out for one another.

Not to mention that living together addressed his intense need to have her close. Somehow, being with her had become as natural and mandatory as breathing. It was as though he'd been drowning during all those centuries without her, and he was only now learning how to breathe again.

Distantly, Hope registered the squabbles of the middle-aged couple a few seats in front of him. Which brought him to his next line of thought: domestic life with Lightning.

Seven months had passed since then, and they'd eased into a steady companionship. He'd learned numerous little things about her, like her curious fondness for classical music, how she preferred her coffee (black, one sugar), and that she was mercilessly tidy (woe betide the hapless housemate who left behind his mess of so-called organised chaos). She could be fussy one moment and apathetic the next, but he'd braved her peculiarities with good humour, relishing each new discovery he added to his mental scaffold of Lightning Farron. To be fair, she had to deal with his less endearing traits too: irritability, erratic sleeping habits and the need to shut himself in his room for long periods of time. (He hadn't been very present as of late either, but that was another matter of its own.)

Adjusting to life with another person was never easy, but little by little, they grew comfortable with each other. Now, seeing her smile – a grateful, content tug of her lips – when he passed her the daily pick-me-up each morning had made everything worth it.

This was _their_ normal life now.

No, he wouldn't lose her again. They'd come too far for that.

It was on this thought that carriage doors slid open, signalling the end of his journey. Without preamble, Hope left his seat, exited the station and began the trek home, a brisk five minute affair.

Lightning had to be there, safe and sound. She _had_ to be. He refused to believe otherwise.

Long strides carried him to the end of the street, where their shared unit seventy-eight resided. There was an unmistakeable glow of lights from within, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief upon catching notes from Beethoven's fifth symphony – Lightning liked to unwind to the tune of her favourite medley. A fumble of keys later, and he stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

"Light, I'm home!"

"…Hope?" A bleary voice greeted him, originating from the mop of rose-coloured hair splayed over the top of the couch. Said mop shifted, and he found himself the target of a heavy-lidded, storm-blue gaze.

He put two and two together. "You fell asleep waiting for me?" he blurted, disbelieving.

Oh, this was rich. Here he was, burning through countless mental circuits in the fear that she'd been taken away from him again. But it transpired that she'd merely ignored his voicemails by virtue of _dozing off_. Of all scenarios, he hadn't accounted for this one. It was irrational to get worked up over something so petty, but it didn't prevent the annoyance that welled up inside him.

She waved a careless hand in his direction, yawning. "Must've been more tired than I thought. Your dinner's on the kitchen bench. I'm afraid it's probably stone cold by now. If you'd gotten home sooner—"

"I'd made it pretty clear I wouldn't be home before nine-thirty." There was an edge to his words.

"Oh." She sounded taken aback. "Didn't you leave a message?"

He stepped out of his shoes and socks, depositing them on a nearby rack as he approached her. " _Three_ , in fact."

Frowning, she snatched her phone from the coffee table and flicked through it, her expression turning contrite as she arrived at the same conclusion that he had.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise," she breathed, all traces of sleepiness gone. At this, his irritation evaporated, fast as it had come.

He shot her a smile, indicating that all was forgiven. "It's fine. Now, if you hadn't been so busy mimicking Sleeping Beauty," he teased, waggling his finger, "I wouldn't be in this situation. I don't even get so much as reheated leftovers."

She threw a cushion at him, eliciting a surprised oomph. "Would you rather I hadn't brought it home in the first place, you ungrateful oaf?"

"Point taken. After all, nothing says love more than cold takeaway."

Having anticipated her response, he ducked in time for another cushion to sail over his head. "Go microwave your dinner," she grumbled.

He sketched a mock-salute. "Yes, ma'am."

After picking up and restoring the abused cushions to their rightful place, Hope proceeded to the kitchen, where he spotted a white box containing the aforementioned takeaway. Dumping its congealed contents into a perspex container, he threw the lot into the microwave, and waited impatiently for the countdown to reach its end. Lightning had not moved from her position on the couch when he returned, steaming bowl of noodles in hand. He settled beside her, wasting no time in tucking into his meal.

"Seriously, Light," he said after swallowing his second mouthful of food, "when you didn't reply for the past two hours or so, it made me worried."

"I didn't mean to worry you," she muttered, contrite again.

He inclined his head, acknowledging her apology. "You know, it's strange for you to nod off before eleven."

"I've had a long day." She sank back into her seat, closing her eyes. "The music is relaxing."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed.

A companionable silence fell between them, broken only by the sounds of him eating. The background soundtrack changed to a piece Hope didn't recognise, the low, mournful rumble of the cello creating an atmosphere of wistfulness. Fishing out the last morsel from his bowl, which he set down together with his chopsticks on the coffee table, he turned to the woman beside him. Lightning's relaxed posture indicated a state of rest, but there was ever so slight a knit to her brow, unnoticeable unless one were to look closely.

Was something bothering her?

"Light, are you alright?" he probed. "You seem... subdued tonight."

Her eyes flicked open, but she did not look at him. "There's a lot on my mind lately."

"Gil, no _dollar_ —" he offered, remembering to use the new world currency, "—for your thoughts?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about you."

This admission surprised him. "What about me?"

Her mood, already sombre, descended into full-blown melancholy. "Hope," she began, turning clouded storm-blue eyes onto him, "do you ever feel lonely?"

He contemplated her question for a moment. Loneliness had been a central theme of his life, both during the years between the first and second Cocoonfall and the Chaos-infested centuries afterwards. Initially, it was because he'd been left behind by everyone he'd ever loved that he climbed the ranks of the Academy, front-lining research in the hopes that he could reunite with them. Later, as the Chaos tore apart everything he'd worked so hard to build, he'd found the mantle of humanity's sole leader almost too much to bear. Many a time he'd stood on the precipice of the abandoned Ark, wondering if jumping to his death would absolve him of his colossal responsibility.

Yes, Hope Estheim had lived a very lonely existence in the old world. But Lightning was asking if he felt lonely _now_. His new lease on life had stripped away his title and duty: no longer was he the unreachable Academy Director, lone bearer of the burden of humanity's survival. He was a mere civilian now, albeit with a promising and fulfilling career in research. Moreover, his deepest, most desperate wishes had been granted: he'd gained a second chance with his prematurely departed parents, his friends lived close by, and he'd found his way back to the person he held dearest to his heart – _her_.

Time and hardship may have ravaged his ancient soul, but he was no longer alone.

"No," he finally replied. "But why do you ask?"

Lightning looked uncertain. "Because, after all this time, you haven't—" she cut herself off, visibly rethinking her words. "Well, I've yet to see you bring someone home."

Hope frowned, both at the fact that she'd changed her sentence midway and the new implications it carried. "Somehow, I don't think you'd appreciate that."

" _Please_ ," she scoffed, "we're both adults here. I can make myself scarce for one night."

"It's not an issue," he dismissed her argument with a shake of his head, "as I haven't met anyone who's caught my attention." _Not when you've always held it._ "And I'm honestly surprised that of all things, you'd choose my love life – or lack thereof – as a topic of discussion." The ball was in her court for that one; surely they'd danced around each other long enough for Lightning to realise it was _her_ whom he wanted.

There was a desperate gleam in her eyes that he couldn't puzzle out. "Listen, Hope. We got our new world – we're supposed to be happy now. But I haven't seen you move on, embracing the new things in this life. I wouldn't want you holding yourself back on my account."

"What makes you think I'm holding back?"

She lowered her gaze. "I—I've noticed things about you," she admitted, tugging on a stray lock of hair – an unconscious, vulnerable habit of hers. "You've been distant lately. You eat too little; you're too thin. You work long hours and sleep poorly." Her eyes snapped back to his, accusation flashing in their storm-blue depths. "And don't think I haven't seen those pills."

Lightning knew about the antidepressants? This set off alarm bells in his head. He kept those in a drawer in this desk, and while she was no stranger to his room, it would require conscious effort on her part to find them. This could only mean one thing: she'd been snooping.

He'd been naïve to trust that she wouldn't, indeed.

"So you think romance is the cure to my problems?" he shot back with more harshness than necessary, overtaken by a great, ugly spike of betrayal.

She reared back at his question, before folding her hands into her lap, biting her lower lip. "I don't know! But I'm aware of how important it is, the effect it has on people. Seeing Serah and Snow together – they're so happy that it's... ridiculous. In a good way." Her voice then took on a hard, determined quality, even as the look she gave him was heart-wrenchingly earnest. "You deserve that same happiness. And I don't want to be in your way."

She believed that she was an obstacle to his happiness? Surely she couldn't be _that_ dense; the very opposite was true! He harboured no delusions about a happily-ever-after – his soul was too damaged, too broken – but he'd found some measure of contentment in this life, which was more than he'd bargained for. Lightning's presence alone soothed his wounds. Only _she_ had the capacity to do that: not his parents, not his friends, and definitely not some random stranger. Perhaps he was hopelessly (and unhealthily) fixated on her, but the notion that he'd fall in love with someone else – let alone have said hypothetical relationship culminate in a fairytale ending – was absurd. _Impossible_.

"Light, I am happy," he said fiercely, taking her smaller hand into the cradle of his own. "Here with _you_."

She stared at their joined hands, her posture rigid. "Are you, really?"

"I wouldn't say that if it weren't true. I'm happier than I've ever been in centuries."

Her breath came out in a huff. "That's _bullshit_ , Hope."

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden vulgarity. "Are you claiming to know my emotions better than I do?"

"I'm not. But the pills you keep trying to hide from me do."

He flinched. Why did she have to pick out the one aspect of his life that he had no control over?

"I can't help that!" he cried, tearing through his hair in frustration. "Bhunivelze left deep scars in me. You already know this! They're not going to go away on their own." He took her hand again, shaking it. "The pills are a temporary aid, something to clear my mind while I sort things out."

"What if you can't?"

Oddly, her expression of doubt calmed him. "It's not a question of can or can't," he asserted, repeating the rhetoric that had formed the cornerstone of their partnership a thousand years ago. "I _will_ get through this. I'll keep on fighting." He gave her palm a firm squeeze.

Instead of having the effect he'd intended, his gestures only drew out an agitated noise from her. She wrenched her hand from his grasp; both of hers had curled into fists by her sides.

"Hope, this is the reason why I fought," she growled, "so that you wouldn't have to! We beat Bhunivelze, tossed him into the abyss. We won our second chance at life!" She paused for a moment, and he saw that her hands were shaking, fingers clenched so tight that her knuckles flashed white. "But you're still suffering. Even now I can't protect you, not from _him_." Self-loathing bled from every syllable that left her lips, and he felt his chest constrict in response.

It became clear to him now. Guilt formed the crux of her dilemma: she felt responsible for his pain. Playing the martyr was one of her more stubborn flaws, but he needed to make her realise that she was not accountable for his actions – nor those of the malevolent God of Light.

"You can't shoulder the blame for that, Light," he said gently.

Unsurprisingly, his words failed to sway her. "Then who will?" she demanded. "Hope, we're partners. I swore I would keep you safe, damn it!" She punctuated her statement with a thump of her fist against the couch.

"And you _have_!" he returned emphatically. "Light, don't you see? It's because you're here now that I can look forward to the future at all."

"Is this the future you've envisioned?" she spat. "Where you're still eaten up by the ghosts of the past?"

Her words blindsided him, and for the first time since he'd become an accomplished politician in the old world, he found himself speechless.

She must have caught the agony in his expression, for she immediately looked apologetic. "Hope, I'm sorry. There's nothing more I want than for you to be happy. But Bhunivelze still has his claws in you, and he's not letting go any time soon. I just hate that I can't do a _single fucking thing_ about it," she added bitterly.

"That's where you're mistaken, Light. You can."

She latched onto his words like a lifeline. "Tell me, then!" she pleaded, breathless with desperation. "What _can_ I do?"

Storm-blue eyes shone up at him, so vulnerable that it made his heart ache. In that moment, their roles were reversed: suddenly, he was no more a fourteen-year-old than a world-weary adult, and she'd morphed from the determined, stoic guardian into a lost child seeking answers. The irony was not lost on him.

He reclaimed her hand, drawing circles around the callused knuckles with his thumb. "Stay with me. It's that simple."

She shook her head, aghast. "There's gotta be more than that. There has to. I can't just sit around while you continue to scream in your sleep. I can't." Her eyes scrunched shut, and he could see anguish writ into the faint lines of her face. "It _hurts_ watching you go through that."

He froze, releasing her hand. The fact that Hope had persistent nightmares remained a touchy subject between them. While he recalled little from those episodes – courtesy of subconscious repression, no doubt – he'd remember waking to a warm presence shaking his shoulders, and hear Lightning's voice calling his name. She'd approached him about it three times, and the first two times he'd thanked her before deflecting her with as much civility as he could manage. (Loath as he was to admit it, he may have lost his temper in the last instance.)

The knowledge that she'd comfort him in his weakest moments was enough for him. There was no need to delve into the particulars: namely, that his nightmares revolved around rose-coloured hair and storm-blue eyes – belonging to a fake, warped version of her.

No, best he kept _that_ to himself.

"I know you'd rather not talk about it," she persisted when he did not respond. "But I need to understand you, Hope. Why is it that when you wake, you'd look at me with this awful... _fear_ in your eyes?"

She was treading on very dangerous territory. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. "Maybe because I'm afraid you'd disappear," he admitted quietly, still not looking at her.

"Disappear – like a _phantom_?"

Dread closed around his chest in an icy vicegrip. "I don't recall mentioning that," he said automatically.

"You didn't. I wouldn't know if it weren't for Snow."

His eyes snapped back to hers. "He told you, did he?" he asked in a low, tense voice, feeling a pang of betrayal towards the man whom he regarded as his best friend.

As though she'd read his mind, Lightning gave a sharp shake of her head, words tumbling out of her in a rush, "Snow didn't betray you. I practically had to wrest the information out of him."

She sighed. "Hope, I've been worried about you for months. Snow knew you best in the old world; naturally, I turned to him for answers. We met up two days ago, and we talked. About what happened to you during my long sleep." He watched as she wrapped a lock of hair around her index finger and gave a firm tug. "He mentioned you had visions of someone who looked and sounded like me."

Trust Snow to bring _that_ up. During their vigil over the dying world, Hope had shared several drinks with his old comrade-turned-wingman. As the number of beer glasses piled up, he'd let his mouth run about the apparition with Lightning's face and voice, ignoring Snow's increasingly worried looks. "I see."

"When I probed further," Lightning went on, still fiddling with her hair, "he simply said that I should ask you myself."

Now it was Hope's turn to sigh.

The sound made her go still, like a chocobo caught in headlights. "Look Hope," she back-pedalled, "I don't want to force you—"

"You've brought it out into the open now," he interrupted her, resigned. "There's no point hiding it any more. I'll tell you – everything."

She pursed her lips, her expression a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Okay."

He took a deep breath, summoning the relevant memories. "It started off with my research team disappearing," he explained, voice blank with practised detachment. "They'd just discovered a breakthrough, a way to combat the Chaos that had consumed our old world. I'd banked my hopes – and the hopes of all remaining humanity – on them. When they vanished one by one, until there was no one left, I was overcome with despair.

"That's when my mind cracked, and I began seeing the phantom. I'd catch a glimpse of rose-coloured hair at the edges of my vision, or the silver flash of a blade, or a hand reaching out to me. These glimpses grew in frequency, until one day, you appeared in whole to me, just as I remembered you from our l'Cie days.

"Then you – _she_ – started talking to me. Told me everything I wanted to hear, and more. She smiled at me. I was..." he hesitated, searching for the right turn of phrase, "hopelessly captivated."

"I knew she wasn't real. The real you was locked away in the Temple of the Goddess; I'd even visited your crystal on several occasions. But I couldn't help myself. After waiting for so long to see you again, I would have you back in any capacity – even if it was all a lie.

"I descended into madness. Fantasy and reality blurred together until I could no longer tell them apart. I'd wile away countless days, weeks, even months, waiting for the phantom to return. Everything else ceased to matter. I was drunk on the sight of your smile, the sound of your voice.

"When she finally... _touched_ me, I knew it was over."

As soon as those words left his mouth, Hope couldn't maintain the façade of detachment any longer. Unable to look at Lightning and the horror in her eyes, he bowed his head, shame and guilt tearing at him.

There was no doubt what he'd meant. Wracked with longing, he'd given in to the phantom's advances, letting her trail her too-familiar fingers down his face and bring his mouth to hers. Even as he tasted the overwhelming wrongness on her lips, he'd pulled her closer, too far gone to care.

He felt a hand clutch his shoulder, the grip firm and reassuring. With that simple motion, Lightning anchored him back to the present. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he resumed his story.

"I followed her into the Ark shortly after that. When I realised where I'd gone, I came to myself for a moment, enough to send Snow a final warning. 'Lightning will return as the Saviour, but beware the fake Lightning', I told him. Then Bhunivelze's light swallowed me, and I knew nothing for a very long time."

Silence blanketed them, heavy with unspoken implications. A full minute went by before he heard Lightning's voice once more, tremulous like she was on the verge of realising something important.

"So it's true then. Bhunivelze exploited your feelings for me to trap you."

"Yes."

Hearing this affirmation seemed to break a dam inside her. "Oh, _Hope_ ," she cried; not once in the entirety of his millennium-old lifespan had he heard someone call out his name with so much emotion.

She released his shoulder, prompting him to meet her gaze. The storm-blue irises that greeted him were a veritable tempest now, swirling with awe, sorrow, affection and above all, regret.

"You never should've chosen me! You suffered so much for my sake."

So, she finally acknowledged the fact that he loved her. While he hadn't stated them outright – save that one date where he'd nearly kissed her – he'd communicated his feelings in the form of constant messages, lingering touches, and the small, everyday things he'd do for her. Knowing that this revelation came with such terrible anguish for her curbed any sense of satisfaction, however.

Seeking a means to reassure her, he relived a moment in the distant past, where a gorgeous, aloof soldier had extended her hand in aid to his scared teenaged self. "How could any man _not_ choose you, were he in my shoes?"

"You're insane, Hope!" Lightning burst out, incredulous. Her right hand tightened into a fist, and her body visibly shook when she spoke again. "I've only caused you pain."

"Then I guess that makes me a masochist as well," he offered, giving her a sad smile.

She looked away. "Why me? I'm a wreck. I'm not feminine, I push people away, I only know how to fight. I barely even feel human—"

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever known," he cut her off, taking her chin into his hand and turning her face back towards his. "I'm sorry Light, but you may have permanently ruined me for other women since you entered my life."

"Have you been waiting for me all along?" she breathed, arrested by his gaze. "For these past thousand years?"

"Yes." He tucked a stray lock of rose-coloured hair behind her ear, eliciting a shiver from her. "And I would go through it all over again, just to be with you."

She screwed her eyes shut, and he caught the tell-tale sparkle of tears on her lashes. " _Gods_ , Hope."

"This is my choice, Lightning," he went on, willing her to _understand_. "I don't regret a thing. All the decisions I've made, the ordeals I've undergone – they've brought us to where we are today." A crease had formed between her brows, and he brushed his thumb soothingly over it. "We're together now, you and I. Just like I've promised."

Her eyes snapped back open, bright with unshed tears. If he'd thought that they were tumultuous before, it didn't compare to the _wildfire_ that he was seeing now. She reached out to caress his cheek, her fingertips burning against his skin.

"Hope," she choked out, her face close – much too _close_ , "you are a remarkable man. I don't deserve you."

Before he had a chance to register what was happening, Lightning had closed the small gap between them, her lips on his.


	2. Part II – Unification

xxx

**Part II – Unification**

xxx

Before he had a chance to register what was happening, Lightning had closed the small gap between them, her lips on his.

Not even centuries of wishing and dreaming and fantasising could have prepared Hope for this moment. The contact was electric, sizzling through his nerves and scrambling his mental circuits. It was as though the universe had narrowed down to the point where their lips met, and he found himself unable to think beyond the fact that _Lightning Farron was kissing him_.

This surely couldn't be real.

He jolted back to reality when she pressed her mouth more firmly against his, imploring without words for him to respond. The phantom's kiss was nothing like this – that had been smoke and mirrors and fabricated sensations. This time, he was all too aware of Lightning's solid, living presence behind their joined lips. Which reminded him: he hadn't moved for a good thirty seconds now.

Lightning Farron was _real_. And she was _really_ kissing him.

Hope forced himself to breathe.

However, his window of opportunity to respond had expired. The heat from their union dissipated – accompanied by an acute, painful sense of _loss_ – as Lightning pulled away from him. When he caught the hurt and uncertainty in her eyes, he felt his gut churn, as though someone had plunged a knife into him and twisted it.

"I'm sorry, I thought—"

He didn't give her a chance to finish, sealing off her unneeded apology with his lips.

She sighed against his mouth, and he felt compelled to prove to her that he wanted – no, _needed_ – this. Breathing hard through his nose to keep himself from being overwhelmed, he pressed little fluttery kisses along her lips, committing the textures to memory. They were full and firm, a little chapped – apt metaphors for the woman they belonged to. Unthinking, he darted his tongue out, laving the roughened skin in an attempt to soothe it.

Lightning's breath hitched, and something inside him _snapped_.

It was as though the floodgates to his pent-up feelings had opened, and he could no more stop the torrent that rushed out than reverse the flow of time. With a thousand years' accumulation of longing and grief and desire roaring through him, Hope snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, attacking her mouth with a ferocity he hadn't known he possessed. He drank from her lips like a man dying of thirst.

It was not enough.

What had begun as a slow, devouring kiss quickly escalated. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, applying suction and the slightest scrape of teeth. Her reaction was immediate: a sharp inhalation, followed by fingers knotting themselves into the hair at his nape and pulling him closer. He felt her lips part in invitation and took the cue, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of recent takeaway and tears and something uniquely Lightning. Goddess, she was _intoxicating_. Greedy for more, he traced the perimeter of her tongue with his own and stroked the roof of her mouth—

She moaned.

It was muffled by virtue of his mouth covering hers, but the sound – raw and primal and coming from _her_ – may well be the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. Light-headed from the sudden rush of blood southward, Hope ceased his assault on her mouth, toppling them forward onto the couch. There was a brief fumble as they rearranged themselves: she prone on her back with him poised above her, one leg entwined with hers and the other braced against the ground.

They lay like this for a moment, savouring each other's increased proximity. Having her this close, with her body flush against his, was driving him _wild_. Her scent filled his nostrils: a heady combination of rose perfume and sweat, underlaid by the earthier tones of her personal odour. Heat shimmered from every point of contact between their bodies. Never had he been more aware of another person breathing; he could feel her ribs rhythmically expand and contract beneath him. She was so very _alive_ , and this simple knowledge was enough to make his heart beat faster and amplify the desire that swam like liquid fire through his veins.

Then Lightning hooked her hand around his neck, tugging him down as she arched up to kiss him.

This time, she swiped at the seam of his mouth with her tongue, demanding entrance. Eager to learn how she'd proceed, he obligingly parted his lips, shivering at her warm, slippery intrusion. Holy Etro, did she realise what she was doing to him—? His mouth was a whirlwind of sensation from her licks and caresses, and he could do little but gasp and tremble through it all. His heart was galloping at a hundred beats per minute, and the tightness in his pants had passed the point of uncomfortable and was now painful. By the time she released his mouth with a parting nip and fell back against the couch, he felt that he'd been thoroughly ravished.

She would be the death of him. And she hadn't even touched his bare skin yet.

Catching his breath in short, shaky pants, Hope took a moment to study the woman beneath him. Rose-coloured hair formed a halo around her lovely face, splayed wantonly against the seat in every direction. Straining against the turtleneck sweater that confined them, her breasts rose and fell with each rapid breath (it pleased him to know that she was – to some degree – as _off-balance_ as he was). Her cheeks had turned a fetching shade of pink, and her lips were swollen from her earlier ministrations. 

Most breathtaking of all were her eyes. Framed by long, impossibly dark lashes, they gazed up at him, desire blazing in their storm-blue depths. Desire for _him_.

Goddess, she was so beautiful.

He wanted her. Oh, how he _wanted_ her. But he had to be sure that she wanted him in return.

"Light," he got out in between pants, "if we don't stop now... I won't be able to control myself."

"I'm not asking you to stop," she replied, her words steady and resolute despite her own breathlessness.

"Do you truly want this?"

"I wouldn't have kissed you… if I wasn't going to follow through," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But for your peace of mind… I'll spell it out. Yes, _I want you_ , Hope."

_I want you._

Her declaration sent a tremor of arousal through him, so powerful that it left him weak and gasping for breath. How many times had he dreamed of hearing her say those words? And now that he had heard them in the flesh – in that lustful, _self-assured_ voice – it was almost too much to bear. Fighting down the sudden, overwhelming urge to rip off her clothes and take her right there and then, Hope dropped a sloppy kiss on her lips before rolling off her onto his feet.

If he was going to make love to Lightning Farron, he would do so _properly_.

"My room?" he breathed, offering his hand to her. His reasons for putting forward his room were two-fold: one, he wanted her in _his_ bed, and two, he kept condoms in his nightstand. (Just in case. While he’d hoped – longed, _craved_ with every fibre of his being – to be intimate with her one day, never had he imagined that their first sexual encounter would turn out quite like this.)

Lightning took the proffered hand, using his weight to haul herself up. "Sure," she shrugged.

Keeping her smaller hand enclosed within his own – even in his lust-ridden state, he gleaned a certain joy from that small intimacy – Hope led her to his bedroom. His heart rate jumped still higher with anticipation; he wondered if she could hear the frantic _thump-thump-thump_ of his chest as he pushed the door open. There was a momentary fumble for the light switch of his bedside lamp, then out of nowhere, he felt two palms brace against his ribs, shoving him backwards onto the bed.

Under no circumstances had he expected _that_.

"You're wearing too many clothes," declared the culprit unrepentantly. She stepped forward, a predatory gleam in her eye.

Still stunned that she had the audacity to shove him onto his _own_ bed, Hope glared up at her. "Is that a problem?" he challenged.

His breath caught in his throat as her fingers made a beeline for his belt buckle, her intentions clear. "You bet it is."

Within seconds, Lightning had unbuckled the clasp and pulled the belt apart. He gave a sigh of relief when she unzipped his fly, allowing his erection to spring free. Several tugs on his waistband later, his pants were tossed onto the floor, exposing his legs to the night air. Then she was palming him through his briefs and he was moaning and shaking and throwing out expletives with her name mixed in because it felt so damn _good_ —

He had to stifle a whimper when she pulled her hand away, leaving behind a keen, empty ache amidst the fog of pleasure. Shaking his head to clear away his disorientation, Hope gazed into her face. For some reason, seeing that _smirk_ there incensed him, stirred something vindictive and animal and _male_ inside him.

Oh, he was going to make her _pay_ for this.

He seized the wrist making its way up to his shirt collar and stood up abruptly. Grasping her shoulders, he twisted them both around and pushed Lightning down onto the bed, replicating their position on the couch earlier. This time, he insinuated his knee into the hollow between her thighs, pressing upwards in a deliberate, relentless motion. She rewarded him with a buck of her hips and a loud hiss, the sound travelling through him straight to his aching groin.

Mesmerised, he repeated the movement until she was writhing in his sheets, her gasps filling the air like so much sweet music. Bending down, he then peppered kisses along her neck and up her jawline, finishing at her ear.

"I'd say you're wearing too many clothes as well, Light," he said in a harsh whisper, feeling his cock twitch at the thought of what was to come. "And I plan to address this."

He saw her raise an eyebrow in his peripheral vision. "Oh yeah?"

Instead of replying, he seized her earlobe into his mouth and sucked, _hard_. He felt her body snap taut and then shudder, and he exploited that moment of weakness to snag the zipper of her turtleneck sweater. There was a satisfying hiss as the fabric parted, revealing creamy skin obscured only by a practical black bra. Wriggling the sweater over her shoulders, he peeled it away from her, trailing his fingertips along her collarbone as he did so.

The sight of her breasts – full and luscious, heaving with her uneven breaths – captivated him, and he found himself reaching out for them without conscious thought. With supreme effort, he stilled his wandering hands.

No, he couldn't afford distractions now. Not before he stripped her entirely _naked_.

Discarding her sweater on the floor, he eyed her work slacks next. With a boldness born of heightened arousal, he hooked his fingers around the hem – and those of the panties underneath – before yanking them both off her legs. (She let out a delicious gasp of surprise, too.) They joined the sweater on the floor. He felt a fresh surge of blood southward as he glimpsed the moisture-slicked flesh between her thighs (all the while stamping down the urge to pause and _stare_ ) on his way back to the final obstacle: her bra. It took him three tries before he succeeded in unclasping the offending garment, which he cast aside with a triumphant flick.

Mission accomplished, Hope leaned back and licked his lips, drinking in the sight of the naked woman before him.

He'd always been aware that Lightning had a stunning, sexy body. Back when he knew her as a teenager, the Guardian Corp uniform she'd sported did little to conceal her athletic physique and feminine curves. (Naturally, these featured in the vast majority of his adolescent fantasies.) Later, during their thirteen-day partnership at the old world's end, he'd seen her in various outfits, some of which left even less to the imagination. Those memories couldn't compare to the sheer beauty of the vision he beheld now. Moreover, knowing that this – _all of her_ – was his to touch and make love to only inflamed his sense of appreciation – and the throbbing in his loins.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Hope let his hands roam over her body, caressing and worshipping every inch. Her smooth, ivory skin yielded at his touch, a tantalising blend of soft and firm. He ran his fingers up along her strong, well-muscled legs, ghosting over her trimmed mound and the swell of her hips before dipping into her narrow waist. The toned plane of her stomach fluttered as he fiddled with her bellybutton piercing; it'd been a point of fascination ever since he'd noticed it during their l'Cie journey. Silken and supple, her breasts moulded into the concave of his palms when he cupped each of them in turn, savouring their weight in his hands.

Lightning's breathless voice interrupted his reverie. "Like what you see?"

Goddess, _yes_. "Very much so," Hope murmured, turning his attention to her nipples. They were a dusky colour, the peaks stiff from exposure to the night air. He gave them an experimental brush of his thumb, eliciting a shudder from her. "You're so beautiful."

A pretty blush suffused her cheeks. "T-Thank you."

"I can look at you all day; I'll never get tired of this." He dropped an open-mouthed kiss into the small space between her cleavage.

To his surprise, she swatted away the hand that had been feathering its way down her navel and scooted upright. "While I appreciate the thought," she said, her expression intent, "two things need to happen now. This—" she jabbed at his shirt, "—comes off. Those too." She pulled the elastic of his briefs, letting them snap back against his hip.

He felt his lips curve into an amused smile. "As you wish, my lady."

Eager to please, Hope unbuttoned his shirt in record time, throwing it down along with his discarded briefs onto the floor. Now, what with the way she appraised him – gaze sweeping up and down his naked body – he felt something unwanted and unexpected creep into his gut: _self-consciousness_. While he had no concerns in the downstairs department, he knew he lacked muscle definition. (A poor appetite and busy work life certainly hadn't helped, either.) None of his lovers in the old world had ever complained about his slim build, but next to the sheer gorgeousness that was Lightning, he felt _inadequate_. Hell, she had more muscle than he did.

Therefore, it was with utter disbelief that he watched her lick her lips, genuine admiration and hunger in her eyes. "You're beautiful too, Hope," she proclaimed, making his wide eyes go still wider. "More than I imagined."

She'd fantasised about seeing him naked as well? While that was by no means an unwelcome notion, hadn't she— "I thought you said I was too thin." The words escaped him in a soft, uncertain breath.

"That's still—" she started, but cut herself off, seeming to think better of her words. "Never mind that. Just get over here." She opened her arms in invitation.

He didn't need telling twice. Feeling the bed sink with their combined weight as he clambered on, Hope settled into the space by her side. Lightning's first action was to hook her arm around his back, bringing their heated bodies together. He let out a low groan; the sensation of her naked skin sliding against his was positively exquisite. His hands latched onto her waist, wandering frantically in his efforts to _feel_ as much of her as possible. Then their mouths met once more, lips and tongues merging in a hot, slippery tangle of passion.

His legs had entwined with hers in the process of getting closer to each other, trapping his erection between them. Delirious with a sudden, blinding need to be touched, he bucked his hips against her, desperate for relief. His movements didn't go unnoticed. Excitement and delight flooded him when he felt Lightning reach down, taking him into her hand. She gave him a firm squeeze, and his mind went momentarily blank. Then sparks were arcing up his spine in rapid succession as she stroked his aching flesh over and over, causing him to throw his head back and moan. Holy Etro, it felt amazing – doubly so because _she_ was the one doing this to him.

Keen to return the favour, he reached down with one hand and nudged her thighs; she spread them obligingly. He loved that she slowed in her ministrations – which was fine, because he could do without being putty in her hands right now – when he tapped his fingers against the swollen flesh. He loved it even more when she stilled altogether as he teased her with light, fleeting strokes, frustrated noises escaping her. Then he delved into her wet folds, finding her clit and drawing tight little circles around it. His reward was a full-bodied shudder and a series of keening mewls, each higher-pitched than the last.

Drunk on her responses, he continued to pleasure her, adding the stimulation of his lips on her breast. It was with an intense, carnal satisfaction that he watched her become increasingly undone: she was grinding against his hand, her head tossing back and forth and hands scrabbling at the sheets. He gave her nipple a particularly hard suck and dipped a finger inside her, curling it in a come-hither motion. The ragged cry that tore from her throat shot through him, bringing up memories of night after lonely night where he'd taken himself in hand, dreaming of touching her. Like he was in this very moment.

Suddenly he couldn't take it any more. He needed her. _Now_.

He withdrew his mouth and hands from her. She gave a whimper of protest, which transformed into a sigh when he rolled on top of her. Situating himself between her thighs, he proceeded to rub his cock against her folds, wringing gasps of pleasure from them both.

"Light, I want to be inside you," he declared, voice low and rough with urgency. _Please don't deny me._

There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, and for one brief, terrifying second, he feared she would tell him that this was all a mistake. "I'm not on birth control. Do you have—?"

"Yes. Shall I—?"

She nodded in assent, and he released the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. They were really going to do this. Reaching over her for the handle of his nightstand drawer, he opened it and retrieved a small silver package. He tore apart the wrapper; after a quick application of the contents, he was ready.

She had hiked up her knees in preparation, and he felt her legs settle around his back as he mounted her, his thighs astride her hips. He reached down between their bodies, positioning himself at her entrance.

His gaze sought hers one last time. What he saw there – anticipation and want and intense, breathtaking _trust_ – made him swallow hard. "Don't hold back, Hope."

He complied. In one slow, unsteady motion, he sank into her, parting her flesh as he eased forward inch by gradual inch until he was fully sheathed within her.

It felt like he'd finally come home, and he let out a low groan at the deluge of sensations and feelings that immersed him all at once. She surrounded him, warm and wet and _tight_. It was pleasurable – excruciatingly so – but there was more to it than that: a _rightness_ , whole and absolute. Buried deep inside the woman he loved more than life itself, united as male and female in the most intimate and fundamental of ways, he felt content. Complete.

So rapt was he in his examination of their coupling that he nearly missed his new lover's response. Her breath had left her in a shaky exhalation as she accepted him into her body, her eyes flying wide. But there was a calmness in those storm-blue depths as well. Did she feel what he felt? This overwhelming sense of completion, as though he'd found the missing piece of the puzzle to his heart at long last?

He snapped out of his musings when an impatient pair of heels dug into his lower back. Perhaps not. Perhaps he was over-romanticising the moment.

The calmness in her eyes had gone, replaced with urgency.

He moved.

The pace he set was slow, deliberate. It wouldn't do to overtax his stamina, given that one, it'd been decades (discounting his entrapment by the phantom and Bhunivelze's hundred and sixty-nine year mind-wipe that followed) since he'd last been intimate with someone, and two, he was so very wound up. The mere act of joining with her already had him perilously close to the edge. 

But he wanted to draw out the experience, both for himself and for her. He wanted to convey the true depth of his passion for her, to enfold them both into the blaze of his searing, all-consuming desire.

He wanted to _make love_ to Lightning.

So he poured his soul into every motion he made. Each thrust was accompanied by a generous roll of his hips, reaching into her deepest crevasses as he filled her again and again. He captured her left hand with his right, interlacing their fingers in their own unique lover's knot. The other hand he guided to the apex of her thighs, silently asking her to seek her own pleasure – which she did without question. All the while, he stared into her eyes, drinking up every heated, rapturous expression she gifted him so that he could emblazon them into his memory forever.

They continued in this manner for time untold, just rocking against each other. She would rub herself and buck her hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, her face contorting and a moan fleeing from her parted lips each time he stroked her innermost core. He was no less affected; gasps escaped him in a continuous stream as he maintained the cycle of pulling back, almost out of her, only to plunge back in all the way to the hilt. The friction was exquisite, sending white-hot waves of pleasure up his cock and stoking the rapidly growing fire low in his belly. That, combined with the feeling of fullness in his chest, gave rise to an ecstasy so profound that it left tears in his eyes.

Still, it wasn't enough – he wanted her _closer_. As close as it was physically possible to achieve, him and her merging into one flesh until he could no longer tell where he ended and where she began.

He released her hand and hooked his arms underneath her shoulders, pulling himself forward onto her. Flush against her like this, he could feel every slide of their sweat-slicked skin, every press of her soft, yielding breasts. Their combined scents – man and woman and _sex_ – permeated his nostrils, and his ears echoed with the sounds of their pleasure along with liquid slaps as their flesh parted and met again in the most primordial of rhythms. It was exhilarating beyond words. Fuelled by sensation, the fire inside him built to a roaring inferno, and he had to exercise his willpower in earnest lest the flames overtake him.

He couldn't let it end yet. Fortunately for him, his lover seemed to have reached the same critical point.

She'd gone wild without warning – the change of angle must have touched some magical spot deep inside her. Her thighs clamped around him, her heels digging into his back deep enough to leave indents as she urged him forward with every meeting of their hips. She vacillated between commands – _yes, right there, harder_ – and increasingly loud moans, squeezing him so tight that he was gritting his teeth in the battle against his own impending climax. He could feel the hand between their bodies moving more and more frantically, and he increased his pace and the force of his thrusts to match, his own moans escalating as pleasure overtook him. He was fast approaching the pinnacle, and she had to reach it with him, because he would surely explode if they kept this up—

"Just like that, Hope. Harder. Please, _harder_! Oh god, oh _gods, yessss—_ "

She let out a piercing wail, and he felt her whole body convulse beneath him, her inner walls rippling around his cock in delicious, pulsing contractions. Faced with irrefutable evidence of the fact that he'd brought her to the peak, he found himself careening over the edge, clutching her tight and crying out her name into her neck. He slammed his hips into her – once, twice, pressing deep inside on the third and final time – as he spilled himself in bright-white bursts of sensation. Static engulfed him, sizzling up his spine and through his limbs. The whole process took all of five seconds – five seconds of concentrated euphoria – then the tension ebbed away, along with his remaining energy.

Spent, he collapsed onto her, both of them labouring for breath.

They stayed like this for several minutes, a sweaty tangle of bodies and decelerating heartbeats and post-orgasmic bliss. Then he rolled off her – breaking their intimate connection with a pang of loss – onto her side, and slipped an arm under her waist to draw her close.

Heart filled to bursting, Hope buried his face into her hair, unable to stop the sudden onslaught of tears. It was here, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, that the veil of desperation and lust lifted, leaving his soul stripped bare. He was drowning in a sea of emotion: gratitude, happiness, release, and most potent of all, _love_. Perhaps the intensity of his feelings could be attributed to the oxytocin rush, but he doubted he could feel more for the woman in his arms than he did in this moment.

Her soft voice broke him out of his trance. "You're crying." There was no accusation or surprise in her words, only tenderness.

He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. "I'm a little overwhelmed, that's all," he croaked.

"It's okay, Hope." Fingers threaded through his sweat-dampened hair, smoothing it down in gentle, rhythmic caresses. "I'm here."

Upon hearing those words, he began crying in earnest, his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. Lightning was here. She was _real_. She'd accepted his love, his passion, his brokenness – she'd accepted him. This simple fact had changed something fundamental between them. No longer was he chained to the poisoned feelings her thousand year parting had left behind; she'd cut them away, set him free. Now, there remained only him and her and the warmth of their newfound union.

Ensconced in the sanctuary of Lightning's arms, he found _salvation_.

It was unclear how much time had passed before he gathered himself, his tears subsiding. Then he leaned his forehead against hers, mind abuzz with ways in which he could express the enormity of her importance to him. In the end, he decided on three simple words: 

"I love you."

Her reply was soft, calm. "I know."

She didn't say the words back. He didn't expect her to.

Brushing his lips over her brow, he separated himself from her embrace and rolled off the bed onto his feet. A few steps took him to a nearby trash can, where he deposited the used condom. Opening his wardrobe to extract a towel, he gave himself a cursory wipe down before turning his gaze onto his lover, who had been watching him this whole time.

"It's late." He picked out a fresh pair of briefs and tugged them on. "Are you staying?"

In spite of the intimacy they had just shared, the look she gave him was tentative, almost shy. "If you don't mind," she mumbled, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

He gave her a small, reassuring smile in return, warmed by her response. "Of course not. Would you like to borrow something to sleep in?"

"Uh, sure."

"Here, catch."

She shrugged into the loose T-shirt he'd tossed in her direction, pulling absently at the fabric. It was too large for her, comically so, but seeing her in his clothes filled him with a sense of contentment – as well as no small amount of possessiveness.

After turning off the switch to his bedside lamp, he clambered back onto the bed, feeling it sink once more as he reclaimed his place by Lightning's side. Reaching down, he tugged the blankets over them both.

She had turned towards him, her breath ghosting over his temple. Feeling the space behind his breastbone light up with warmth, he feathered his fingers over the silhouette of her cheek before cupping her chin.

"Goodnight, Light." He tilted his head forward, pressing a brief, tender kiss onto her lips.

"Sleep well, Hope," she replied, the warmth in her voice resonating with that in his chest. "I'll be watching over you."

Gently pulling away from her, Hope relaxed into his pillow and closed his eyes, comforted by her closeness and her scent. When he finally drifted off into slumber, he did not dream.


	3. Part III - Reconstitution

xxx

**Part III – Reconstitution**

xxx

When Hope woke the next morning, he was surprised at how rested he felt. It'd been centuries since he'd last slept properly (and when the phantom invaded his dreams, bad sleep became a foregone conclusion). There was neither ache in his chest nor heaviness in his limbs; such had been symptoms of his post-awakening state for a very long time. The insides of his thighs tingled with a residual soreness when he shifted them, though.

He opened a bleary eye. The level of sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window indicated that it was, at earliest, seven (and thirteen past), a fact confirmed by a glance at his bedside clock. He needed to be at work by nine-thirty, which meant he had an hour or so to get ready before catching his train into the city.

Unwilling to depart the warmth of his bed just yet, he burrowed deeper into the sheets and took a deep breath. Lightning's scent – more personal musk than rose perfume, now – pervaded his nostrils. All of a sudden he was assaulted with images and sensations from their intense lovemaking last night. He recalled with vivid detail how Lightning had writhed beneath him, her cries filling the air as he buried himself inside her again and again—

Hope jerked upright, fully awake now. Arousal surged through him, converging on the focal point of his morning erection. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a cold shower was definitely in order. (Given Lightning's absence, there wasn't a more pleasant alternative.)

Throwing his blanket aside, he exited his bed and retrieved the necessary items from the wardrobe before departing for the bathroom. He shed his briefs on his way to the already-wet shower cubicle (Lightning must have used it earlier), and flung the door open. Once inside, he set the spray to cool, letting the icy water deflate his ardour. He needed to think.

_He'd made love to Lightning._

The experience had been beyond incredible, transcendent almost. It was catharsis and absolution and fulfilment of his most passionate wish all at once. She had forgiven his indiscretions with the phantom when she'd taken him into her body, and he, in turn, had poured his soul into her. All the while, his feelings had erupted like wildfire, so great in their ferocity that the mere act of recalling them had his heart pounding and tears shimmering at the edges of his vision. Never in the span of his thousand-year lifetime had he experienced anything comparable to that.

He picked up his shampoo bottle, absently going through the motions of lathering his hair.

Normally, the knowledge that he and Lightning had progressed far enough in their relationship to have sex would bring him immense joy. That wasn't to say he didn't feel happiness – he certainly did, along with the warm, steady thrum of completeness. However, there was a niggling sensation at the back of his mind, as though the pieces of the puzzle hadn't quite fallen into place.

She wasn't in his bed when he woke. This fact didn't bother him; she was an early riser. If memory served him correctly, her daily morning jog was scheduled at the ungodly hour of five-thirty am. (While he _did_ feel a twinge of disappointment that she wouldn't forgo her routine in lieu of waking up next to him, he let it go almost straightaway. Lightning was a firm creature of habit.)

No, what bothered him was _why_ she'd initiated the encounter.

He bent his head under the spray, rivulets of foam scattering around him. Common sense would dictate that he not look the gift-chocobo in the mouth, but he was a skeptic (and worrywart) by nature. They had not tumbled into bed together under ideal circumstances. Rather than a premeditated encounter agreed upon by two individuals in the affirmation of their love, theirs was more of an impulse decision. He knew his side of the equation – he'd wanted her since he'd understood the full implications of what wanting someone else meant – but what about _hers_?

The conversation they had prior to last night's events was charged with tension, up until and including the point where she'd uncovered the truth of his devotion to her. It was quite possible that she'd been swept up in that storm of emotion.

Then again, she had said this—

_"I wouldn't have kissed you... if I wasn't going to follow through."_

—which indicated forethought on her part. She'd planned to sleep with him from the moment she kissed him. Or at the very least, she'd understood that it could escalate to sex and had accepted that as a matter of course. This fit in with his model of Lightning's behaviour: she would never make a decision without the full weight of her deliberation behind it. Logically, this meant she already had pre-existing, underlying reasons for going through with that kiss (and the things beyond).

What were these reasons?

Naturally, his mind gravitated to the worse case scenario.

He drizzled some liquid soap on a sponge, and began applying that to his body. Judging by the fact that she had (erroneously) claimed responsibility for his suffering, guilt would not be a far-fetched assumption. It was a powerful driving force, after all. She'd maintained that it was her duty to protect him from the ravages of his mind – perhaps sex was her way of repaying him for her failure. Having set herself an impossible goal, that left compensating him as her only recourse.

He did _not_ like where this was going.

Maybe she also pitied him. He'd made no secret of his fixation on her. From a less charitable point of view, he would be considered pathetic and obsessed. Hell, hadn't she expressed that she – again, _erroneously_ – owed him for all the hardships he'd endured for her sake? Why not give the hopeless romantic what he wanted, a night with the woman he'd pined after for a thousand years?

The sponge fell from lifeless fingers as Hope whimpered, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He'd been so caught up in the heat of the moment – finally finding release for his pent-up emotions – that he hadn't stopped to consider if her reasons for sleeping with him were less than altruistic. There could be nothing worse than learning that he'd only been a pity fuck.

Eyes watering, he braced his arm against the wall, gasping from the sharp, crushing pain that arose with that thought. It took several minutes of forced, methodical breathing – with the spray pounding against the back of his skull – before he regained a semblance of calm.

Surely there were less unpleasant reasons; he simply needed to find them.

Picking up the sponge, he resumed soaping himself as he cast his mind back to their conversation once more. She'd asked him if he were lonely. Why he hadn't found someone else. If he were holding himself back on her account. If he was truly happy with her. Then she'd went on that self-deprecating tirade about being a wreck (before he'd cut her short) and proclaimed that she didn't deserve him (not that he believed _that_ , of course).

She'd said all of that, and yet he'd seen genuine desire in her eyes.

Combining these factors together, it would mean that she must've been aware of his feelings for her all along, but hadn't been able to accept them (until last night, where he convinced her otherwise). While she clearly wanted him – it would be presumptuous to extrapolate this far as wanting to _be_ with him, but he'd run with that hypothesis for now – she was conflicted about her own worthiness as his romantic partner. Weighed down by her inadequacies, she'd found herself unable to take the next step with him in their relationship. Sex was therefore her outlet, her compromise.

Or it could be an indication of something more on her part.

Soaping completed, Hope set the sponge aside and stepped under the spray. Tempting though the idea may be, he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the possibility that she loved him back. That way only led to madness. Disillusioned by his interactions with the phantom – too often had he succumbed to the lie ( _I love you, Hope_ ) that fell from those immaterial lips – he'd set up safeguards around his heart. He couldn't allow himself to hope, not yet. Not without confirmation. Not without irrefutable evidence that she returned his feelings.

Hope sank his forehead into his palm. This exercise was raising more questions than answers. Lightning was a complex woman; he'd probably only scratched the surface of her mental labyrinth. However astute his observations, he was not privy to everything that ran through her head.

What he needed was for Lightning to fill in the rest of the equation.

Curbing that line of thought, he let his mind drift towards the next progression point: consequences.

He readjusted the spray until it became a gentle cascade. They couldn't resume what they had before, that much was for certain. Sleeping together had irrevocably changed their dynamic. Even now, without her presence nearby, he'd become aware of her in a new and primal way. Nothing could erase the imprint of her lips against his, the remembered heat of their bodies melding together, the knowledge that he'd unearthed the secrets of her most intimate place.

Moving forward, there were a few avenues they could explore.

One such avenue would involve them acknowledging what happened between them as a one-time event, and continue cohabiting. (Separation was out of the question; he _needed_ her close.) What with their newfound awareness of each other, their interactions would likely become stilted and awkward. He wasn't sure if he could refrain from making romantic overtures either, given that his feelings were already out in the open. All in all, it was not a satisfactory resolution, for more reasons than one.

Alternatively, they could enter into a mutual arrangement where they had sex with each other, but without exclusivity. This was a likelier outcome (assuming Lightning wanted to continue sleeping with him; if nothing else, last night's events proved they had sexual chemistry). It required no outward show of commitment from her, keeping the more sordid details of their lives contained under their roof. It would, however, constitute a compromise on his part – he didn't just want to have sex with Lightning, he wanted to be _hers_ (and she to be _his_ ). Nevertheless, he'd be a fool to dismiss the option should it arise; at least he'd have some outlet for his feelings.

Lastly – and this was the agenda he'd be pushing – they could become a couple. Or the possibility of it. Convincing her to become romantically involved with him would be no easy task; his earlier analysis, incomplete though it was, had already identified several obstacles. There would be more, no question about it. But Hope was nothing if not persistent. He had not loved her – former mentor, warrior goddess, and now, ordinary woman – for a thousand years only to have his efforts thwarted when she'd finally fallen into his grasp.

Satisfied with the conclusions he'd drawn up, Hope turned off the spray, towelled himself dry, and pulled on his underwear. He considered his razor for a moment before setting it aside; even at twenty-eight, he still struggled to grow any respectable amount of facial hair. The wintergreen eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were not his usual visage, lacking the tired bags that hung beneath them. Today, he looked alert. Determined.

His hair received a perfunctory comb-through, then he pulled on the rest of his clothes, taking care to align the buttons of his shirt. A quick dabbing of cologne comprised the final touch. Morning ablutions complete, he exited the bathroom, squaring his shoulders.

It was time to confront Lightning.

He found his new lover in the kitchen, her back to him as she prepared what smelled like coffee. To his surprise (and pleasure), she was still wearing his T-shirt, though she'd donned a pair of sweatpants for bottoms. Her hair had darkened to a shade of copper in its dampness; she'd obviously showered not long ago herself.

She turned around to face him as he approached, a steaming mug in each hand. He scrutinised her expression, finding only forced neutrality. That presented a worrying start. Was she preoccupied with the same thoughts that saturated his mind?

"Good morning, Hope," she greeted, walking towards the dining table, where she set down the mugs.

"Morning, Light," he greeted back, drawing up a chair and settling into it. She took the seat beside him.

"I took the liberty of making us the usual." She pushed a mug towards him, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"Thanks." He gave an appreciative sniff before taking a gulp, savouring the bitter aromas. If this encounter proceeded the way he'd anticipated, he was going to need the caffeine.

A tense silence descended between them, punctuated only by the sounds of them sipping their drinks. Then, like a scene in a poorly choreographed movie, they both turned towards each other and spoke at the same time:

"Light, I—"

"Hope, we—"

"You first," he called out, forestalling any further awkwardness.

She conceded with a nod, her expression turning grave. "Alright. Hope, we need to talk. About what happened last night."

Ah, the dreaded 'we need to talk' line. As it transpired, he already came fully prepared. "Yes, I agree. You weren't there when I woke up," he added softly, careful to leave any accusation out of his tone.

"I'm sorry." There was an edge to her apology. "I had to get out and think."

"I understand; I did my fair share of thinking as well."

She rapped the knuckles of her free hand against her forehead. "Hope, I'm not sure how to start this."

"It's okay." He gave her a patient, reassuring look. "Take your time."

"Right. I…" She closed her eyes in what looked like pained concentration, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of her mug. Nearly thirty seconds had passed before her eyes snapped back open, a steely determination in their storm-blue depths. "I'm not going to run away."

"I know that I've changed things between us by sleeping with you," she went on in a rush, as though she might lose her nerve if she didn't get her words out as quickly as possible. "And I'm afraid of what this might mean for us. But I won't run away.

"I've been running away my whole life. Away from Serah, my problems, even my feelings. I'm done with that." A furrow formed between her brows, and her lips thinned to a hard line. "Even though I've probably screwed up with you, I'll stay here until we sort things out. It's the least I can give you."

He stared at her for a moment, stunned. Disregarding the 'screwed up' part – that remained to be seen – she'd managed to impress him. One well-documented fact about Lightning was her tendency to flee from difficult interpersonal situations. It must have taken her immense courage to oppose her instincts and attempt resolution instead, and even more so to say this aloud to him.

"Wow. Light, that means a lot to me, more than I can describe." He leaned forward, placing his hand over the one curled around her mug handle. Then, in fervent tones, he continued, "Likewise, I'll remain with you, no matter what happens."

She glanced down at the hand covering hers, then back at him, visibly taken aback. "T-Thanks," she muttered.

He favoured her with an affectionate look. "After all, we're partners, right?"

The corners of her lips quirked in a small, not-quite smile. "Right."

"Well then," he started, withdrawing his hand to take another sip of coffee, "is there anything you want to talk about in particular?"

She took a deep breath, releasing it shakily. "There's just so much."

"Would it help if I asked some questions, then?" he prompted, waiting for her nod before continuing. "First of all, do you regret what we've done?"

Her expression was resolute, if tight. "No."

"Good, neither do I."

"But I admit I feel—" she hesitated, lowering her gaze, "—guilty about it."

While this confession came without surprise to Hope, it _did_ make trepidation churn in his gut. "Might that be because you slept with me out of pity?" he ventured, bracing himself. The truth might rip his heart into shreds, but he had to know for certain.

She shot him an incredulous look. "Pity? Gods, _no_. Why would you even think—?" She shook her head. "You're a remarkable man, Hope – I still stand by that statement."

He let out a trembling sigh, swamped with relief and more than a hint of self-reprimand. That was his worst fear eliminated. So he hadn't needed to open that can of worms in the first place. Did he honestly place so little faith in what she thought of him?

Giving himself a mental shake, he proceeded to the next query in line. "What about guilt, then? Or a sense of obligation?"

She fidgeted, her mouth tightening. "I won't deny it. More than anything, I wanted to protect you - I still do. But I failed. So I thought I could make up for it – by giving you what you needed." She gestured at herself, leaving no question as to what she indicated. Then she sighed, her features crinkling with unease. "But looking back on it now, I had other, more selfish reasons. It feels like I've taken advantage of you."

A cold, creeping sensation manifested in the region of his chest, lodging itself behind his breastbone. So he'd been right: she'd slept with him to appease her guilt, which had been intermixed with recognition of his need for release. Having this theory confirmed brought him no satisfaction at all.

And what did she mean by _taking advantage of him_?

"Elaborate. _Please_ ," he demanded, voice cracking on the word.

"Hope, remember our conversation from before? When I asked if you were lonely?" Her hand crept up to her hair, fingers twisting around a stray lock. "Truth is, it wasn't only you I was thinking about."

She'd felt so lonely that she had to project these feelings onto him? He'd been remiss in his attentiveness. It made sense: relieved of the burden of caring for Serah – that was _Snow's_ duty now – she'd lost her driving force in life. (That realisation had hit her hard; he remembered how she'd wept bitter tears into his chest as he held her that evening.) Her other outlets were apparently insufficient to fill the void, and he knew that his own company had been far from stellar. 

They experienced loneliness in different ways, he surmised. After centuries of chasing after shadows, he'd found her living presence enough to subsist on. She, on the other hand, needed something more: a physical, tangible connection with another person.

"So you're lonely yourself?" he breathed. "You know, there's nothing to stop you from bringing someone home either." While he hadn't voiced it aloud, he loathed the very idea. It was difficult enough to stomach the thought of another man touching her at all, much less under their roof.

"I've considered it," she replied as she tugged harder on her hair, her own disquiet rising. "I've been tempted, actually. But I couldn't do it."

"Why couldn't you?"

"Because the people out there," she explained, waving her hand around, "they're nothing like me. Nothing like _us_. _You're_ the only one who understands."

Comprehension clicked: Hope knew of one experience exclusive to them both. "Are you referring to our stint as Bhunivelze's pawns?"

"Yeah," she affirmed, relieved that he'd cottoned on as quickly as he did. "You understand what it's like to be beyond humanity. To carry the world on your shoulders. To be God's cold, unfeeling tool."

"You're still human, Light," he assured her, recalling the beautifully real, fragile woman who'd approached him the night before. The same woman looking at him right now. "You made that abundantly clear last night."

"I know, but I can't help but feel like I'm not, sometimes." She paused, taking a fortifying gulp of her coffee. "So I came back to you. I needed someone to understand." She tucked her chin into her collarbone, as though she were bracing herself for what came next. "I needed _you_."

He reared back in his seat, hurt and betrayal roiling through his gut in thick, unpleasant waves. Unable to forge the connection she'd needed with another human being, she'd turned to her only option and last resort: _him_. "I—I see."

She'd tensed up from his reaction, but the steely glint in her eyes told him that she'd resolved to reach the end of this road, whatever destruction she left in its wake. "Also, there's the matter of your… feelings for me."

"You've known about them for a while, haven't you?" he prompted, dreading where she was taking this.

She nodded, pursing her lips. "I've suspected since our reunion. You were so happy to see me; the only other person who greeted me like that was Serah. So I knew that at the very least, you cared for me. Then you asked to move in together, and that, combined with the way you'd touch me, look at me, do little things for me… It's only confirmed my suspicions."

"So, armed with this knowledge," he began, unable to keep his voice from climbing with every word, "you concluded that I would welcome your advances? That I would help ease your loneliness, your sense of duty towards me?"

Her expression was torn. "Yes."

"Was I just a safe lay to you?" he said through gritted teeth, barely refraining from lashing out with the hurt and anger that seethed inside him.

"No, nothing like that!" she burst out, combined desperation and frustration evident in her cinch of her brow, the tightening of her fists. "Please don't misunderstand me, Hope."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, reining in his fury with deep, controlled breaths. "You need to explain yourself further." Seized by emotion, he'd nearly forgotten himself by jumping to conclusions – the very antithesis of his prided rationality.

Lightning, on the other hand, resembled nothing so much as a startled chocobo ready to bolt, held down only by her stubbornness. "It's one thing to know that you had feelings for me," she went on in tentative tones, eyes searching his face warily, "and another to experience them in full force. You've always looked at me with this… _longing_ in your eyes. It was especially clear last night, but also before that. Remember the night of our date, after we got home? You—you looked like you wanted to _kiss_ me."

How could he forget? He'd set up a proper restaurant date to apologise for the steak night he'd missed (one of many instances where his workaholism had backfired). That little black number (Serah's choice, apparently) was more – and _less_ – than he'd seen her wear in the new world; removing his gaze from her at any point in that evening had required an almost insurmountable effort. While he was sure the desire coursing through him had reflected in his eyes, her own had glimmered with uncertainty. However much he'd yearned to claim her luscious, red-painted lips, crossing that line would be to misstep irreparably.

"I did. So badly. But you weren't ready."

The sigh that fled her lips echoed the one she'd given him that night; he couldn't tell whether it was from relief or disappointment. "And there was another night where I saw you—" she choked, unable to finish her sentence.

His eyebrows soared to his hairline. "You saw me? Doing what?"

She glanced away, then back, a touch of pink creeping up her face. "You were—you were saying my name."

What could she be referring to? He couldn't think of any blush-inducing occasion where he'd say her name, unless— 

Sweet Etro, she'd _walked in on him_. 

Pleasuring himself to thoughts of her had always been a guilty indulgence (especially in recent days, what with her living with him and all) that he nevertheless partook in. This was within the privacy of his room, of course; he was far from an exhibitionist. However, there was the one night where he'd left the door ajar, unwary of overlooking eyes. He'd been tired – and _careless_ , that much was apparent now – but how was he supposed to know? She'd messaged him saying not to expect her until the next morning, after all.

Not to mention he'd been quite… _vocal_ , too; he was playing out a rather lurid fantasy that time. Goddess, how much had she heard—? 

"I-I wasn't aware you were w-w-watching!" he spluttered, cheeks igniting with a flush of his own.

"I'm sorry,” she gritted out, looking rather mortified herself. “I didn't mean to."

"Light, I—" He shook his head, finding himself at a loss for words. What could he say? That he'd been using her as masturbatory material for the past thousand years, and wasn't likely to cease doing so? It amounted to a level of damnation beyond his ability and all of his accumulated good karma to redeem. Even the fact that they'd had sex couldn't alleviate his guilt in the matter.

To his surprise, there was no accusation in her gaze, only understanding. "It's fine, Hope. I get it. In fact, it would make less sense if you didn't—" she cut herself off, tugging furiously at her hair.

"I'm guessing I didn't repulse you," he ventured, attempting to steer the conversation to less volatile ground.

She looked at him with a shuttered expression. "You didn't."

"Did—" he couldn't prevent his voice from wobbling over the words, "— _w-watching me_ change what you thought of me?"

This stirred something inside her, and she threw out her right hand, incredulity radiating from her storm-blue eyes. "How couldn't it? I knew then, without a doubt, that you wanted me. Then Snow confirmed it. But actually hearing it from you, face-to-face, that was a whole 'nother story.” 

“How so?”

She shifted, her shoulders going rigid. “I felt... overwhelmed. The truth was there all along, but it became so _real_ in that moment. And it made me want things. Things I've denied myself ever since my mother died and left me to raise Serah on my own."

"What are these things?" he urged her, suddenly feeling the full gravity of their discussion.

She tensed up even more, which contrasted with the longing in her voice as she spoke. "I—I wanted to be wanted. To be loved. You gave your love so freely last night, I couldn't help myself." She screwed her eyes shut, continuing in an anguished whisper, " _So I took it._ "

Hearing that melted something inside him, and he found a certain clarity amidst the tumult of emotion. Because he _understood_.

"I can't fault you for that," he relented. "It's a very human desire – the want to be loved. But," he placed a hand over his heart, unable to conceal the forlornness in his words, "was it _my_ love that you wanted?" _Did you want_ me _at all?_

Her eyes snapped back open, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him – she'd given him the same intense look when she was about to kiss him last night. "Yes," she replied, her voice unwavering. "Even though I knew I couldn't possibly give it all back." Then the moment shattered as she turned away from him, burying her face in her palm. "Gods, I'm so _selfish_."

For several moments, he stared at her crumpled form, watching her tear herself apart with her shame and remorse. So this was what she'd meant by 'screwing up': she'd used him. (Or she thought she did. The fact that she'd said yes to wanting his love suggested that she – maybe, _hopefully_ – returned his feelings in some capacity, which would render the notion void.) Hurt and anger and betrayal still churned inside him, but they were remnants now, quashed by a single, all-encompassing emotion: _empathy_. He'd been through the same things as she had, undergone the same ugly, painful feelings. The one, paradigm-shifting difference between them was that he had the luxury of hindsight.

If he were to condemn her for her actions, that would make him a filthy, lying hypocrite.

"Were I in your shoes," he said slowly, "I might have done the same."

She spun towards him, mouth agape. "Wait, you're not upset that I… used you?"

He exhaled noisily, running a hand through his hair. "I won't lie by saying I'm not. But more than that, I understand your motivations. Many relationships have begun on those premises."

He was speaking from experience. Overcome with loneliness during the Chaotic Era, he'd sought comfort in the arms of a few women. While he treasured the experiences he'd gained in their company, he eventually let them go. It was beyond cruel to keep holding their hearts hostage, given that his own was forever bound to his first love.

But he'd gone and done it again. Three times, no less. The self-revulsion had hit him so hard afterwards, he'd sworn celibacy (until the phantom manifested in the ultimate perversion of his desires, but that was a different matter altogether).

How ironic it was that he now found himself on the receiving end of the situation. Although Lightning's reasons were – as she'd put it – _selfish_ , he'd been acquainted with the harsher reality. The fact stood that he'd _used_ those women. This was a sin she couldn't claim, not under their current circumstances and certainly not with the magnitude she'd implied at.

"Light, there is nothing wrong with what you feel," he went on, commanding her attention. "That said, there _is_ some moral ambiguity about this influencing your decision to sleep with me. But even knowing your feelings on the matter, I don't blame you."

She gave a derisive huff, even as the tell-tale glitter of tears welled up in her eyes. "You're too forgiving."

He let his own eyes drift shut. "I guess I'm biased."

"I don't deserve—"

"Hush," he interrupted her sternly, reopening his eyes with a snap. "We'll have none of that." Then, in a softer voice, he continued, "I've made up my mind to forgive you, and you should too. You're too hard on yourself."

She angled her body away from him, crossing her arms. "If only it were that easy."

_Oh, Lightning._

He recognised what she was doing: closing herself off to him. She didn't believe she deserved forgiveness, least of all her own. This stubbornness would result in her demise; left alone, she would surely wither away within the prison of her dark emotions. Her misguided atonement, as it were.

He couldn't – _wouldn't_ – allow that to happen.

Leaning forward, he grabbed one of her wrists, unfurling her self-defensive pose. She turned wide eyes onto him, shocked by his forwardness. He didn't care; he was about to be a lot _more_ forward.

"It _can_ be that easy, Light," he said, putting the full power of his Director's voice behind his words. "Here's why. One of your fears is your inability to protect me. Well, you've done the very opposite last night. You've guarded me while I slept. My subconscious recognised you, because I didn't dream at all. It was the best sleep I've had in centuries."

His proclamation must have struck a chord inside her, for her expression became rapt, as though she was hanging onto his every word. Encouraged by this, Hope forged onward.

"I'm also glad I helped you take away your loneliness. I might've said that I didn't feel lonely, but the truth was that we both needed that physical connection." He curled her smaller hand into his own, drawing circles around her knuckles with his thumb. "We're only human, and sometimes it's necessary to just be close to another person.

"Lastly, the part about you taking my love: it doesn't matter if it's one-sided. I'm more than willing to continue giving that to you, and you're more than welcome to continue taking it. You have no idea how incredible of a relief it is, to express my feelings openly after all this time." He let out a soft sigh for emphasis.

A good twenty seconds passed by while she just stared at him, dumbstruck. Then she broke the silence with a choked laugh, the sound devoid of mirth. "You just know how to say the right things, don't you, Hope?" Her voice was tremulous, filled with awe.

He looked intently into her face, continuing to caress her knuckles. "Does it make you feel better? Have I laid your doubts to rest?"

"Yes." Her eyes squeezed shut, and tears trickled down her cheeks. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, my love," he murmured. More tears leaked from her eyes, and it became apparent that she needed a moment to herself. Releasing her hand, he left his seat, searching the vicinity for a tissue box. Quarry spotted, he returned to his place by Lightning's side, offering her a handful of tissues. "Here."

She took the proffered items, dabbing at her eyes. "You're truly remarkable, you know that?"

He gave his reply in the form of a sad, tender smile, watching as she continued to wipe away her tears. The urge to gather her into his arms was overwhelming, but he stamped it down, intuitively knowing that it would be the wrong action. This moment of weakness was private, hers alone. Not wishing to trespass overmuch into her personal space, he simply lay his hand on her knee, reminding her of his presence. That he was there for her.

Eventually, she recollected herself. Setting aside the small pile of tissues, she cleared her throat and spoke, "I guess we'll need to figure out how we go from here."

"Yes."

A sigh left her lips. "I'm at a loss."

He paused deliberately, trying not to appear too eager. "The way forward is a little clearer to me."

She turned towards him, a question in her eyes. He reached out and took her hands, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. This was it: the moment of clarification.

"Light, you know that I love you. That I want to be with you. You said that you wanted me last night, but given what we've just discussed, I'm not so sure anymore.

"So I have to ask: do you reciprocate my feelings at all?"

She looked hesitant. "Maybe—I'm not sure. It's all very confusing to me. I've never been good with this 'feelings' stuff."

"Please try. For my sake." He gave her palm an encouraging squeeze.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I know I care for you, a lot," she finally said, eyes averted as though she could hide the weight of her revelation behind her gaze. "You're really important to me; I don't want to imagine a life without you. And I find you beautiful." Then her expression became pensive. "But the way Serah describes it – the feeling of being in love – I don't know if I feel that for you. Or if I'm even capable of it."

His heart leapt at her answer, pounding a frantic staccato against his ribcage. She definitely felt _something_ for him; it was just tied up with her pre-conceived ideas of romance. He needed to untangle that mess.

"Everyone experiences love differently," he argued. "You can't base what you feel off Serah's relationship with Snow."

"I have no other point of comparison," she returned, frustration clear in her tone. "I've never been in love."

"Surely you have some idea of what that's like."

She gave a heavy sigh, looking frazzled. "I've always struggled to let people in. Frankly, I'm amazed at how far you and I have come. But the thought of being so close to someone else… it frightens me." She wrung her hands within the cradle of his own.

"Intimacy can be a frightening prospect, yes," he exposited, stilling her fretting hands. "It requires that you make yourself vulnerable to another person. That gives them the ability to bring you joy, but also great pain."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she confessed, bowing her head.

He ran his fingertips along the fine bones in her hand. "I can't promise that I won't hurt you. But I _will_ do what I can to prevent that from happening."

She was decidedly not looking at him now. "I know. And thanks." Her delivery was stiff, but he could detect genuine emotion behind it. "I appreciate it."

"For you," he said solemnly, "I'd do nothing less." He squeezed her palm again, prompting her to return her gaze to his. "Also, I have another question. Light, what do you feel when you're with me?"

"Safe," she offered without hesitation.

"Do you feel happy?"

She chewed on her lower lip. "Not since I realised you weren't."

Hearing that made his heart swell with excitement. If she placed so much importance on his happiness that it affected her own, that could only mean— "You really _do_ care about me, don't you?" he asked in a quiet, awestruck voice.

"Yes," she confirmed, averting her gaze again. "More than I'm willing to admit." The words came out in a barely audible whisper, but he heard them as clear as day.

Elation overtook him, enveloping him in a warm, golden haze. She'd all but declared that she harboured romantic feelings for him; this was as forthcoming an admission as he was going to get from her. And it was the evidence he'd needed. Given the enormity of his own feelings, it would be too much an ask to have her return them in full, but this was enough. More than enough.

Because it meant his love was no longer unrequited.

He'd accepted that as the status quo for a thousand years, vindicated in his role as the tragic romantic. Never had he known that the alternative could be so wonderful, so relieving. It felt as though a gigantic weight had been lifted off his heart, one he'd never realised was there all along.

Blinking back tears, he drew her hands up to his lips, pressing kisses onto her knuckles. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."

A hint of pink touched her cheeks, and she looked back and forth between their hands and his face, her expression a mix of confusion and incredulity. "But I haven't—what I'm giving you isn't enough," she protested. "My feelings are nothing compared to yours."

"It doesn't matter," he said evenly. "You care for me."

She shook her head. "That's not the same as love—"

"Is it?" he challenged her. "You want my happiness so much that you'd forfeit your own. If that doesn't qualify, what does?"

Her eyes grew wide, as though she were seeing something for the first time. "Wait. Are you saying that I…?"

"Maybe. That's for you to figure out," he drawled, giving her an enigmatic smile. It was both endearing and exasperating how emotionally obtuse she could be, sometimes.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

He felt said smile change, taking on a wistful quality. "You remind me of my younger self, when I first realised I had feelings for you."

She huffed, withdrawing her hands from his. "You know, I'm envious that you're so sure of yourself."

"You can say I've had a thousand years of practise," he said wryly.

"A thousand years…" There was a faraway look in her eyes. "Hope, can you tell me how it began?"

"When I began loving you?" he suggested.

"Yeah."

"It's a long story."

" _Tell me_." Her tone brooked no argument.

"Of course."

So he regaled her with the tale of a scared, angry teenager captivated by his beautiful, strong mentor. She'd taught him to be tough, to find his namesake in the face of despair, not to take the ones he loved for granted. Which soon encompassed _her_ , when he learned that she was just as human and vulnerable as he was. Suddenly he wanted to be worthy of her, to find the strength to protect her as she'd protected him.

Then the flesh-and-blood Lightning pressed him for more details, and thus engaged by his audience of one, Hope unravelled the entire story:

He'd been devastated when she failed to appear after they'd completed their Focus, leading him to assume that she'd joined Vanille and Fang in crystal stasis. The thought that he'd never be by her side again had nearly crushed him. But upon finding her survival knife at the base of the pillar, he'd begun to doubt, and from this doubt borne hope.

After that, he'd immersed himself in his studies, seeking a way to free her and their two friends from their crystallised fate. So he'd scoured the Academy's banks of arcane knowledge to forward this goal. It was during this time that he came into adulthood, accompanied by the realisation that he desired her the way a man desired a woman.

A few years later, he'd had his hope manifest in the form of the Oracle Drives, gifting him with tangible proof that she was alive in Valhalla. He'd held on to this proof for dear life, convinced that he would meet her again. Then Serah and Noel had appeared, and he'd joined forces with them to bring forth the true future – to bring _her_ home.

While he'd slept four hundred years away in his gravity capsule, he'd heard her voice, assuring him that he was on the right path. Taking comfort in that reminder, he'd assembled and commanded the Ark, ready to usher in the new age of humanity. (Of course, that came to naught when Chaos flooded the world and stripped all of his hard work into pieces.)

During the Chaotic Era, he'd been preoccupied with keeping the remaining human populace afloat as their leader. Then he'd found her crystal in the Temple of the Goddess, and the place became his refuge and most grievous nightmare. A century or so later, the phantom appeared and ensnared him (but he'd already gone over _that_ tale last night, and he didn't care to rehash it).

When he next became aware of himself, he'd turned into an emotionless child puppet dangling by Bhunivelze's strings. Even the sight of _her_ – the woman he'd so desperately longed after – had triggered nothing. However, over the course of their thirteen-day partnership, the memories and emotions had slowly trickled back to him. This culminated in him saying farewell to her on the final day, giving voice to the feelings that had haunted him for centuries.

Then she'd freed him from Bhunivelze's clutches, bestowing upon him an invaluable gift: to reunite with his parents. Looking into his dear mother's face, he'd felt his heart overflow with happiness. But he heard _her_ , a cry for help from the darkness. So he'd dove back into the Chaos, leaving his parents behind to be with the woman he loved. Her eyes had brimmed with gratitude as she grasped his hand, and it was in this moment that he made his eternal promise:

_We'll be together._

Reborn into the new world, he'd waited for her, emboldened by his love. A love that had spanned a thousand years, made absolute by unwavering faith in the midst of tragedy and suffering. He loved her as surely as he drew breath. Somewhere down the line, she'd become the defining point of his existence – the magnetic pole to his compass, the sun amongst his planets.

For she was, quite literally, the _light_ of his life.

So he had waited. He would always wait. Until the day she would finally find her way back to him.

That was the story of his love for her.

Throughout his recounting, Lightning had listened attentively, understanding and fondness and awe growing in her storm-blue eyes.

"I don't get one thing," she announced after he'd wrapped up his tale. "Why haven't you told me about all of this earlier?"

"Because I didn't want to corner you," he replied, absently stroking the inside of her forearm, which lay on the table. "I know you don't react well in that kind of situation. I'd already laid out my cards on the table – the fact that you've recognised my feelings all along is proof of that. I figured you'd come to me when you were ready."

Truth be told, her readiness was only part of the reason. The other, more pressing side was his fear of jeopardising his chances with her. He had lumped all his eggs into the one basket where she was involved. Should she reject his advances, he had no contingency plan to fall back against. It was like climbing a cliff without a safety anchor: while a great reward awaited him at the end, the journey was riddled with pitfalls. So he'd proceeded cautiously, assessing the situation at every turn.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Lightning blinked, a rosy tint to her cheeks. "I—I never realised you knew me that well."

"I've had several lifetimes and the past seven months to learn who you are, inside and out," he explained, giving her a beatific smile. "Remember what I told you on the final day? 'That it's possible to understand someone by straying through life, arguing sometimes and overcoming obstacles with them.' I still subscribe to that principle. Especially where you're concerned."

Her blush became more pronounced, and she ducked her head. "You're very devoted."

"You bring out this side of me, Light," he murmured, reaching out to cup her chin, tilting her face back up towards his. "Only you."

She went still, entranced by his gaze. "Hope…"

"Light." He trailed his fingers over her brow and down her cheek, watching as her eyelids drooped shut. "Are you—are you ready now?"

Several long, tense seconds passed before her eyes reopened at half-mast, casting a veil over storm-blue irises. "Go ahead."

Unsure what to make of her expression, Hope let go of her face and tested the waters once more. "I don't want to push you—"

"I've taken this into account when I made the decision to sleep with you last night," she interrupted him more forcefully, her gaze flashing like her namesake. "Go on. _Ask_."

"Y-You can't imagine how long I've waited to say this.” 

She fixed a glare upon him, the fiery glint within having morphed into outright impatience. Swallowing, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. _This_ was the pivotal moment: the culmination of a thousand years of loving her. He'd be damned if he screwed it up.

“Light," he spoke slowly, trying hard not to stumble over the words he'd selected from centuries of careful deliberation, "you know I'm yours. I've been yours since I met you. All you'll need to do now is claim me for yourself. Is it selfish of me to ask for that?"

There was a multitude of emotions swirling in her eyes; he identified conflict and magnificent, real _desire_ amongst them. "Hope Estheim, you're the least selfish man I've ever known. It's me who is undeserving—"

"I've heard enough of that," he cut her off with a sudden surge of irritation, "and I still refuse to believe it. What will it take to—"

"I'm not _done_ , Hope," she cut him off in turn, voice raised. "I may not deserve you, but you've made it clear that you want to be with me. And if I'm honest with myself," she went on in more subdued tones, reaching up with not-quite-steady fingers to touch his face, "I never want to let you go. You mean too much to me. So, I'm willing to take you up on your offer. Only…"

"Only?" He caught her wrist before she could let it fall between them.

She looked away. "What if we don't work out?"

He sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. It was a legitimate concern; he wouldn't begrudge her that. Extenuating circumstances aside, relationships often fail due to a lack of care and commitment. But hadn't his millennium-long wait for her proven his tenacity at least? Now that she'd admitted to wanting him, he wouldn't be anything less than wholly invested in making 'them' work out.

"Light, that thought has crossed my mind many times," he said levelly, letting her know that he acknowledged her argument. "I've seen it happens to countless couples, even the ones in love." He smoothed his thumb against the inside of her wrist, marvelling at the soft skin there. "But I'm nothing but determined to see this through. I'll give everything I have to belong with you."

"Life doesn't always work out like that, Hope," she argued, stubbornness evident in the rigid set of her brow. "And I can't—" her features twisted in agony, "I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"Neither can I."

She bowed her head, and he felt his heart wrench at the sight of her scrunched-tight eyes and bared teeth. "I'm scared."

" _I know_ ," he exhaled, laying empathy thick on those two words. Reaching up with his unoccupied hand to caress her cheek, he continued in a quiet, if steely voice, "But like I said before, I'll remain with you no matter what. I'm not about to break that promise."

"Even if we—?"

"Even then. I'll only walk out of your life if you ask me to, Light."

There was a long, pregnant pause, stretching his nerves taut. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were clear, resolute. "Then I accept."

"Truly?" The question slipped out in reflex; an action almost as involuntary as the rapid spike in his heart rate. Had he finally managed to convince her?

"Yes."

He shifted his grip from her wrist to her palm, giving it a desperate squeeze. "Say it again," he entreated her as blood pounded in his ears. "Please. You truly want to be with me?"

"Yes," she repeated, her eyes ablaze. "I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it."

He let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling his chest explode with the sheer joy and wonderment that her words brought. In his thousand years of waiting and chasing and having his heart shredded apart as he found hope only to lose it again, he'd stubbornly held on to the belief that she would come to him. And she did – _all of her_.

This was the true meaning of completion.

"Light," he rasped, tears burning down his cheeks, "you've just made me a very happy man."

She smiled at him, and it struck him how impossibly beautiful she was. "I'm glad of that."

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Hope clutched her hands and brought them both to their feet, before leaning in to kiss her. And again. And again. He brushed his lips over her brow, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, making sure to cover every inch of her beloved face. Only after he was satisfied did he pull back, channelling his heart into his next words:

"Do you have any idea how much I love you right now?"

"I can guess," she replied sardonically, wiping her face clean of the residue his ministrations had left behind. He flashed her a brilliant, if watery grin, earning an exasperated shake of her head in response. "What does this mean now, Hope?" she continued, serious once more. "Where do we go from here? I—I've never been in this kind of relationship before. I've never had the chance."

"Well, I want to court you properly," he blathered, still giddy with delight. "With gifts and outings, secret messages and constant reminders of affection – the whole gamut."

"Geez, you're a total sucker for romance." She screwed up her face in disgust, making him chuckle. "But it's nice, I guess, to be treated like that?" She cast her gaze upwards, a wistful note to her voice. "Like someone special."

"You _are_ the most special person in my universe, Lightning Claire Farron," he proclaimed, drying his eyes with a quick swipe before placing a hand over his heart. "I will give you nothing less than what someone of that title deserves."

A snort escaped her at his words, contrasting sharply with the bloom of fuchsia across her face. "Now that's overdoing it, Hope," she chided him, looking away.

He conceded her remark with a sheepish grin; perhaps he'd erred into melodramatic territory. "Sorry," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "There's just something about you that moves me to theatrics."

"No kidding."

Recognising her discomfort, he switched tactics. "Seriously though, we don't have to rush into anything," he reassured her, running a soothing hand down her arm. "Nothing has to change, Light. Nothing that you're not comfortable with."

She glanced askew at him, latching onto the topic like fish to bait. "Well, if it's uncomfortable you're talking about," she muttered, a grimace twisting her lips, "I'll definitely have to draw the line at public displays of affection. God knows how much I already have to put up with between Serah and Snow. I swear they become more—" she gave an exaggerated shudder, "— _sickening_ every time I see them."

He pictured the aforementioned couple necking in a store corner, then Lightning's nauseated reaction, and abruptly doubled over in laughter.

"Admit it, it's true!"

Her outburst only made him laugh harder.

"We will _not_ be doing that!"

He let out several more guffaws, unable to resist the urge to tease her. "Such a shame. You blush so prettily. If only you could—"

She surged towards him, jabbing him hard in the chest. "Do not make me regret my decision, Hope Estheim." Her right eye was distinctly twitching.

He sobered in an instant, holding his hands up in surrender. "Never. If that's what you prefer, then we'll go with that. May I ask for one small concession, though? I'd like to hold your hand in public." He curled his hand around hers for emphasis.

Her expression softened. "I can allow that."

"Then it's settled?"

"Yeah. Also, about last night…"

"We _are_ doing that again, aren't we?" he blurted, propelled by the force of his desire for her. "I can't get enough of you now; I won't be satisfied with the one time."

She shrugged, trying to affect a look of nonchalance, but he didn't miss the heightened colour in her cheeks. "I don't see why not. It was the best sex I've ever had."

Best sex was an _understatement_. "I'm glad you think that," he returned in a low, dark rumble, "as I have every intention of recreating the experience with you. Many, many times." He wiggled his eyebrows at her, suddenly feeling amorous. "In fact, how about right now?"

It came as no surprise when she flicked him in the forehead, her expression scandalised. "We have work today, Hope," she hissed.

"Take the day off," he cajoled, undeterred by the pain blossoming above his brow.

"No." Her voice was flat.

"Please?" he whined, giving her his most beseeching puppy-dog look. "With rose petals on top?"

She glowered at him. "No."

He pouted, and found himself rejoicing inwardly when her features relaxed, indicating that she'd given way in some form or manner.

"But we'll have all evening to do what you want."

His response was to shoot her an intense, smouldering look, and he licked his lips, conjuring ways in which he could make her shudder and cry out his name. "I'll be looking forward to that."

There was a furious blush on her cheeks as she swerved away from him, drifting towards the open window. "Is there anything else we need to go over?" she ground out, fingers snatching down a lock of hair.

He let out a chuckle, amused by her embarrassment. "You make this sound like a business transaction."

"Well, you'd better get used to it," she grumbled back, still not facing him.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't trade anything about you for the universe," he replied blithely. An idea coalesced in his mind, and he took a step forward in her direction. "But there _is_ one transaction I'd like to make right now…"

"Oh?"

He replied with actions: his outstretched hand grasped her shoulder, gently twirling her around. Then, cupping her face within his palms, he planted a tender, chaste kiss on her lips. It was a kiss full of promise.

Pulling away just enough to lean his forehead against hers, he reached down and took her left hand, skimming over her knuckles. "Light, we're partners, you and I. Never forget that."

She turned over his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. "I won't."

"You don't mind if I take point for now?"

Her lips curved into a smile, small but radiant in its nostalgic beauty. "I'll be watching the rear."

Hand in hand, they gazed out into the sunrise together.

xxx

_Fin._

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve finally arrived at the conclusion of this intense character study, phew. Just like in Misguidance, Lightning has taken advantage of Hope again (albeit for different reasons). It was quite the challenge to wade through the minefield of her emotions. Fortunately, our lovers manage to arrive at a much more satisfactory ending this time ‘round.
> 
> I’ve decided to lay out the journey of Lightning’s feelings in the prequel, _Efflorescence_. Feel free to check that out. In the meantime, please drop a comment!


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